We all looked at one another—all but Mis’ Silas Sykes, that was busy with the syrup pitchers. But the thing was over the rest of us—the lift and the courage and the belief of that hour we’d all had together. And I says out:
“Oh, ladies! I believe in us. I believe in us.”
So I tell you, I wasn’t surprised at what that day done. I dunno for sure what done it. Mebbe it was just the common sense in folks that I cannot get over believing in. Mebbe it was the cores of their minds that I know is sound, no matter how many soft spots disfigures their brains. Mebbe it was the big power and the big glory that’s near us, waiting to be drawn-on-and-used as fast as we learn how to do it—no, I dunno for sure. But they put Eppleby Holcomb in for mayor. Eppleby got in, to mayor the town! And some said it was because the boys that was to cast their first vote had got out, last minute, and done some hustling, unbeknownst. And some thought it was because Threat and ’Lish couldn’t wait, but done a little private celebrating together in Threat’s hotel bar the night before election. And others said election always is some ticklish—they give that reason.
But me—I went and stood out on my side porch that election-day night, a-looking down Daphne Street to the village. There it lay, with its arc light shining blue by the Market Square, and it was being a village, with nobody looking and all its folks in its houses, just like the family around that one evening lamp. And their hearts was beating along about the same things; just like they had beat that day for the sky-wagon, and for the Marseilles French piece. Only they didn’t know it—yet.
And I says right out loud to the village—just like Friendship Village was a person, with its face turned toward me, listening:
“Why, you ain’t half of us—nor you ain’t some of us. You’re all of us! And you must of known it all the time.”
THE FLOOD
It’s “brother” now and it’s “brother” then,
And it’s “brother” another day,
And it’s “brother” whenever a loud doom sounds
With a terrible toll to pay....
But what of the silent dooms they bear
In an inoffensive way?
It’s “brother” here and it’s “brother” there,
And it’s “brother” once in a while,
And it’s “brother” whenever an hour hangs black
On the face of the common dial....
But what of the days that stretch between
For the march of the rank and file?
I don’t know how well you know villages, but I hope you know anyhow one, because if you don’t they’s things to life that you don’t know yet. Nice things.